Call It What You Want
by likemoves
Summary: After a disastrous trip to London, a college-aged Anna travels to Paris alone and meets Étienne St. Clair, who is home from university on spring break. AU.
1. Chapter 1

A/N:This story will be told in alternating points of view. Chapter 1 starts with Anna, Chapter 2 with Étienne, etc., unless it's been noted otherwise. I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

"T'es perdu?" a young man says next to me.

"Um…ah…je…um…je ne…."

_Crap._ I knew I should've memorized more phrases before I got here.

"Are you lost?" he says, switching to a comfortable British English.

"I think so," I say. "I don't understand how I'm supposed to get into the city from here. Everything's in…French."

"Well, you _are_ in Paris," he says, laughing. "Do you know what _arrondissement_ you need to get to?"

I give him a sideways glance. No, I've only been here for an hour – of course I don't what arrondissement I need to get to.

"I'm not sure," I say. "I do have an address though."

I rummage through my purse, searching for the card I quickly wrote the hostel's details on. I wonder briefly whether I can trust him – but it's not like anyone else has been helpful in this airport. Not even the people paid to be so.

"Here," I say, handing him the paper.

He takes it and I finally have a real chance to look at him. He's all tousled hair and skinny jeans and scruffy boots. His eyes are dark, his grin devilish.

Oh, and did I mention he's completely gorgeous?

Breathe, Anna, breathe.

"Hmmm, right," he says, his dark brows furrowed in thought. "Well, I'd suggest taking the RER B train into Paris. And then you'll transfer at the train station to the metro. Your hostel should only be a few stops away."

"Do you live here?" I ask.

"Sometimes," he says, biting at his thumbnail. "I'm not too familiar with that area, though. It's mainly for tourists."

"I see," I say.

"I actually have to take the train as well," he says. "I'd be happy to guide you to the métro from there."

"That would be great," I say, smiling. "Thank you."

He starts walking with his small carry-on bag and I follow him, lagging behind with my overstuffed suitcase. Under most circumstances, I'd be anxious, but something about him puts me at ease.

"So what brings you to Paris?" he asks, pulling out his cell phone. "Work, leisure?" I grin: he pronounces it lez-sure instead of lee-sure.

"Leisure," I say. "I'm here for three days, touring the city."

He types furiously on his phone. "First time?"

"Yes," I say. "I've never been out of the U.S. before. Except for London, where I just came from."

"Oh yeah?" he says. "It's changed so much since I've lived there. How did you find it?"

"It was nice," I say. "But really expensive."

He laughs. "I'm afraid Paris isn't much better," he says. "Although the exchange rate might be a bit better for you."

"Tell me about it," I say. "I've never spent so much on a trip in my life!"

He shrugs. "You get used to it after a while. Unpleasant as it is."

He continues talking – about Paris, and London, and Europe. I'm so engrossed by his conversation that I barely register that we're about to board the train.

"Wait, wait!" I say. "I need a ticket."

"Already taken care of," he says, handing me a boarding pass. "Consider it your welcome gift from the city of Paris."

After the disaster that was London, I'm taken aback by his sweet gesture.

"_Merci_," I say.

"_De rien_," he says, smiling, as we board the train.


	2. Chapter 2

"You? On the train? Now I've heard everything."

Henri laughs loudly on my mobile line.

"Yes," I respond in French. "It's not that hard, you know."

"Of course, _Monsieur_," he says. "As you wish."

Henri has been on my father's staff since my childhood. Now that my father is back in Paris, he's our driver – but he's been many things for us over the course of my father's diplomatic career. Including a substitute father.

"I'll probably arrive at the apartment later," I say.

"It's a girl, isn't it," he says.

"_Merci_, Henri."

"You can't fool me, Étienne!"

"_Au revoir_."

I hang up my mobile. "Sorry about that," I say, turning to the brunette American next to me. "So, you never told me what your name was."

"My mother told me never to talk to strangers."

"You can always give me your favorite fake name," I say. "I won't know the difference."

She laughs. "If you tell me yours, I'll tell you mine."

I smirk. She seems unaware of her own suggestiveness – or her own beauty, it seems.

"Étienne," I say. "Étienne St. Clair."

"And I'm Anna," she says. "Anna…Banana."

"_Ça me fait plaisir_," I say.

"Which means?" she asks.

"It's a pleasure," I say. "But 'it pleases me' would be the literal translation."

"I don't think that one was in my phrase book," she says, blushing.

"So, Anna Banana, you've got a lot to fit into three days," I say. "Where will you begin?"

She pulls out her guidebook, which has been bookmarked with neon post-its that read "Day 1," "Day 2," and "Day 3." She reads through her list methodically.

"Sounds like a good start," I say as the train pulls into the station. "But not everything worth seeing here is in that book."

I pull out a pencil and receipt from my pocket. "Here," I say, writing my email address down. "If you want any other suggestions, let me know."

She takes it and eyes me questioningly.

"Thanks," she says.

The train offloads and we go our separate ways.


	3. Chapter 3

I can't stop staring at his handwriting. It's just his name and email address, but it might as well read BAD IDEA.

Maybe he thinks I'm easy. Yes, that must be it.

My roommate Meredith said that, when she studied in Italy, a lot of the guys there thought she was easy because she was American.

But that was Italy. And this is France. And he's English, right?

Well, he's going to be very disappointed. My ex-boyfriend, Toph, thinks I'm anything but easy. When I saw him in London just days ago, we got into a big argument when I discovered he had been sleeping with one of our classmates – Bridgette Saunderwick. He told me that anything that happened during a study abroad program "didn't really count."

When I told him it did, he accused me of being a prude.

Meredith said he was just being an ass.

I put the piece of paper away and look around my hostel room. It's so strange being here, alone, when this whole trip was supposed to be a celebration of my one year anniversary with Toph.

I had always wanted to go to Paris. It seemed so beautiful, so romantic. But I vowed I would wait until I had someone to go with, someone…special.

Which seems ridiculous now. Why should I let a guy like _Toph_ dictate what I can and cannot do?


	4. Chapter 4

He's not there when I arrive. As usual.

"_Bonjour_, Monsieur St. Clair," Lena says, taking my bag. "Welcome back."

"Merci," I say, and we exchange kisses.

Lena, Henri's wife, is our maid. She's also the closest thing I have to a mother since my own mum died three years ago.

"You just missed your father," she says. "He was called to Brussels for emergency meetings."

"Brilliant," I say, grinning. She gives me a disapproving look. "_Mais voyons_, Étienne," she says. "He is your father."

"Only biologically," I say.

She rolls her eyes and takes my bag to my room. I know Lena and Henri have both seen that other side of my father – the ill-tempered, vicious one he hides so well – but they're older. They still believe in respecting your elders, no matter how they treat you.

I walk to the kitchen, where Lena has prepared a tray of coffee and croissants. My favourite.

"So how are you, _mon cher?_" Lena asks. "How is California?"

"Good," I say. "I decided this semester to do all my history work outdoors."

She laughs. "You are still pale as a ghost."

I tell her about my plans to attend Berkley for graduate school. Several of my favorite historians are professors there, but unless I get scholarship or teaching assistantship, I won't be able to go. Father only pays for Ivy League.

"Ultimately, I think it'll be worth it," I say. "Then I can focus on what I really want."

"Which is?" she asks.

"I'll know it when I find it."


	5. Chapter 5

Paris is…nice. Really nice.

Well, at least the area around my hostel is. I can't say I've been much farther. It's kind of terrifying, actually – no, sorry, I mean A LOT terrifying.

I don't know the city, don't know the culture, don't know the language.

Then, of course, there are all the couples. I swear, I must be a magnet for them – they are everywhere, all kissy and happy and I just can't escape.

Dejected, I wander back to my hostel at 6pm. There's a bar downstairs where other travelers my age have started drinking. They motion for me to come over, but it's about the last thing I need right now. It'll just make me feel more, well, alone.

I head toward the lobby computer and check my email. Nothing. Not even junk mail. I'm in one of the most beautiful cities in the world and nobody cares.

And then I think of him. Étienne. He seemed to be alone here as well _and_ he knows the city.

I send him an email before I can change my mind.


	6. Chapter 6

My mobile buzzes at the kitchen table. "Ellen?" Lena asks.

"I can't tell from the screen," I say. "Excuse me a moment."

I get up from the table and head toward the sitting room. It's an email. An email from…Anna Oliphant?

_I need a new plan for Paris. Coffee tomorrow?_

Oh, right. Anna from the airport. I'm surprised she's actually contacted me.

_I know the perfect place._ _Give me your address and I'll meet you at 10._

"No, just something from Stanford," I say, walking back into the kitchen. "Nothing important."

"You kids with your mobiles," she says. "Such distractions."

"Sorry," I say, but of what, I'm not exactly sure.

I'm not sorry for giving Anna my information. I wanted her to use it. And I know Lena and Henri love Ellie – they think she's a good influence, a stabilizing force – but I increasingly wonder whether I do.

My mates at Stanford always make fun of me for my dedication to her. We've been together since freshman year. They said if they had a posh English accent like mine, they'd take full advantage of it. They say American girls love that sort of thing.

Honestly, I think it's complete rubbish. I don't want to turn into a womanizing bastard like my father. I've lived through its consequences and still live with its repercussions.

But there's something about Anna, something about sudden chances and opportunities, that makes me question it all. What would it be like to be a normal university student – just once? One who wasn't so burdened with the past, with commitments, or with other people's expectations?

The thought keeps me awake half the night.


	7. Chapter 7

My heart thump thump thumps in my chest. He's already fifteen minutes late. Maybe I have the wrong place.

I feel ridiculous standing here in my red shirt and slightly-short skirt. Why did I even dress up? What did I think was going to happen? I look around, hoping that he's there among the patrons. Some are talking animatedly in rapid-fire French, while others sit alone, sipping on espresso and nibbling on baguettes. A few of the older men stare at me.

Gross.

I walk toward the door, deflated. I knew it was all too good to be true. Perhaps I'll go back to the hostel and see if I can get a bus tour or –

"Vous prénez quelque chose?" a young waiter asks me.

"Je ne…"

"You want something?" he asks again, his tone sharp.

"I am waiting for someone," I say.

"Can you wait over zere?" he says sternly, pointing outside to the terrace. "We are very busy."

I turn around, humiliated. This is _exactly_ why I was afraid to venture out on my own here. I walk toward the exit on the verge of tears.

"Sorry," he says, nearly running into me. "Afraid I overslept."

"It's okay," I say. I'm so relieved to see Étienne – I want to hug him. But then that would ruin his perfectly styled blazer, shirt, and jeans. And he cleans up so nicely…

"How long have you been waiting?" he asks.

"A while," I say.

"Well, then, I'll have to make it up to you," he says, pulling out a chair for me at a nearby table. "Do you drink coffee?"

"No," I say.

"Okay, no problem," he says. "François?"

To my surprise, the rude waiter turns to our table. His whole demeanor changes at the sight of Étienne.

"Monsieur St. Clair!" he says. "Ça fait longtemps. Vous allez bien?"*

"Ça va bien," Étienne says.

They continue talking in French and, though I don't understand it, it surprises me how different his voice sounds in another language. There's not even a hint of his English accent.

"Je prends un espresso et elle prend un chocolat chaud," he says. "Merci bien."

"De rien," François says, disappearing toward the back of the café.

"Who was that?" I ask.

"Oh, just an old family friend," Étienne says. "Have you had a chance to look at the menu?"

"It's in French," I say, taking off my coat.

He laughs. "Not this again. Here," he says, flipping the menu around. "English for Mademoiselle _Banane_."

My eyes grow wide at the selection. Croissants, baguettes, and every other delicious French carb I could ever imagine. Now _this_ is why I wanted to come to Paris.

"Like what you see there?" he says, laughing.

"There's so many choices," I say.

"Pick whatever you want," he says. "This is your day in Paris."

"Courtesy of the city of Paris?" I ask.

"No," he says. "Courtesy of me."

* * *

*"Ca fait longtemps. Vous allez bien?" = "It's been a long time. How are you?"

"Ça va bien" = "I'm doing well."

"Je prends un espresso et elle prend un chocolat chaud" = "I'll have an espresso and she'll have a hot chocolate"

"Merci bien" = "Thanks a lot."

"De rien" = "You're welcome" / "It's nothing"


	8. Chapter 8

François arrives with our order and sets it down without a bill.

"C'est gratuit aujourd'hui," he says to me.*

"Mais non," I say.

"Mais oui, Monsieur," he says. "J'étais très desagrable avec votre amie ici. Je n'ai pas su…"

"C'est pas grave," I say, putting some Euros on the table.

And it's true. No one comes here for the friendliness, yet some of my favorite times in Paris happened here. I spent so much time here with mum and Henri and Lena that it almost feels like my second home.

"This hot chocolate is amazing," Anna says. "Great choice."

"Thanks," I say, finishing my espresso. "So, how did you find your accommodations?"

"They were…interesting," she says.

"That bad?" I say, smiling.

"I don't think they've vacuumed the place in a year," she says. "But I guess it could've been worse. I didn't see anything crawling around at least."

"That's because they're covered in dust," I say. "They can't be seen, only felt."

She gives me a horrified expression. "Ugh, thanks," she says. "Now I definitely won't sleep tonight!"

* * *

* "C'est gratuit aujourd'hui" – "It's free today."

"Mais non" – "Of course not"

"Mais oui" – "But of course"

"J'étais très desagrable avec votre amie ici. Je n'ai pas su…" – "I wasn't nice to your friend. I didn't know…"

"C'est pas grave" – "It's nothing."


End file.
